


Pullin' Pigtails

by ladyknightanka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Bromance, Bullying, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, Pre-Slash, Romance, Schmoop, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightanka/pseuds/ladyknightanka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam's younger brother is wrongfully suspended from school, he marches over to work a little lawyerly magic on the incensed principle, then finds a strange ally in a science teacher who is something of a magician himself, at least when it comes to school politics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pullin' Pigtails

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://ladyknightanka.livejournal.com/18553.html). I think this might be a series. If so, there will be Dean/Castiel, too. No one can accuse me of favoritism, lol.

-

Pullin' Pigtails

-

  
Sam came home from work and wanted nothing more than to flop down on a couch next to his brothers, perhaps watch a movie, but preferably not move at all. His boss, Mr. Crowley, had been working his ass down to a nub.

“If you want to make it big in the world of corporate law, moose,” he would say, his lilting accent at once charming and grating, “you ‘ave man up. Pure size won’t get you diddlysquat – not with that elementary school haircut and those cheap, ill-fitted suits. Not at all the impression an employee of MacLeod & Crowley should make.”

Sam always resisted the urge to set him on fire. Just barely. To think he’d initially been proud to have landed the position of the man’s associate.

Thankfully, Dean and Adam generally took his side over his boss's, albeit teasing him for whining about it, but for all their snarky remarks, they actually did try to make the rest of the day go by smoothly for him, if he’d had a rough time at work. Dean would have him sit down and fetch things for him – beer, food, the remote – while Adam did his homework quietly, before volunteering to whip something up in the kitchen. It was a little known and somewhat pathetic fact that Adam cooked better than both of his older brothers combined. Not that Sam burning water could be considered _cooking_ , per-se. Magic seemed a more appropriate and impressive descriptor.

This time, though, when Sam unlocked the door and stumbled into his living room, the first and most popular room of their house, he found it empty. No Dean with his legs propped up on the table, flicking through TV channels disinterestedly; no Adam on the floor, leaning back against the couch legs with his books spread out all over his lap.

“Uh, guys?” Sam called out, wondering whether Dean had taken Adam down to the garage where he worked. He did that sometimes and Adam used to complain, thinking it was because Dean didn’t find him responsible enough to man the fort himself, but Sam had eventually pulled him aside to explain that Dean just _wanted_ him there, wanted to hang out just the two of them, no other reason. If he conveniently omitted how Dean, who’d been rowdier than a hundred man mob at sixteen, was afraid of Adam's adolescent rebellion being half what his was, then that was okay, too. It gave his bullheaded brothers one less thing to argue about.

No one replied to him now, but upon draping his discarded jacket across the head of a chair and starting down the hall, Sam discovered that the kitchen light was on, filtering brightly from beneath the brim of its half-shut door. He slowly crept forward and pushed it open, which angled him in the direction of Dean's back, Adam sitting on the counter in front of their irate older brother.

“Can't fucking believe this,” Dean was muttering, as he tilted Adam by the chin this way and that. The teenager saw Sam and smiled, a familiar quirk of his lips, then cursed when Dean's fingers dug in too deep, prompting the older man to move the appendage away.

“Jesus,” Sam said, gaping at the bruise revealed on his youngest brother's face. It extended from the sharp curve of Adam's cheekbone to the rightmost corner of his mouth, a garish spectrum of yellows, blues and pinks that should have been pretty, but was actually rather gruesome, particularly because blood still streamed past Adam's chin, staining the white collar of his shirt. “What happened, Dean?”

Adam cocked his head to comment, but a caustic look from his older brother shut him up, and his bottom lip jutted out sheepishly. “What happened,” answered Dean in his stead, through gritted teeth, “is that I have to go kick some _ass_ , that's what! Adam got himself expelled!” He slammed a fist down onto counter-top and Adam flinched at the sound.

Sam worked his jaw for an ineffectual moment, attempting to think of an appropriate reply. For all his protests about chick-flick moments, Dean let his emotions, his heart, do all the talking for him. Adam was more considerate than that, taking everything at a painstakingly logical pace, but Adam was also only sixteen, only a kid, and that left this up to Sam.

“I'm going to go get the first aid kit,” he finally said. “After Adam's all patched up, we're gonna break this down as rationally as we can. And that means someone will have to tell me what, _exactly_ , happened.”

Although both of his brothers began to pout in protest, Sam did as promised and turned toward the bathroom, where they kept all their medical supplies. On his way back into the kitchen, he grabbed a chilled bag of peas from the fridge, handing it to Adam, who grimaced when he held it to his rapidly swelling face.

“Okay, what happened, kiddo?” Sam asked, adding a patient, “Dean, let Adam tell me,” to waylay his other brother.

Adam and Dean concurrently frowned, likely for different reasons, but Adam slumped further in on himself and answered, “I got into a fight at school. Or, um, two fights, if we're being technical.”

“ _Two_ fights?” parroted Sam, utterly befuddled. Common sense had obviously suggested that to be the case. If Adam had been hurt in another way – a mugging or something more serious – Dean's warpath would have swept much wider, engulfing everyone he came into contact with. As it was, the eldest Winchester merely seemed annoyed, perhaps feeling some of the same shock that Sam himself did. It wasn't unfounded. Adam could be a smart-ass sometimes, but he didn't fight. Ever. Where John had taught his sons self-defense as soon as they started elementary school, Kate Milligan had talked about compromise and Adam had actually listened.

“I'd say only one,” Dean chimed in. His arms were crossed over his chest in a way that might have been casual, his devil-may-care posture emphasized by how he'd melted into a free chair, but a panther curled asleep was still a panther. Sam and Adam both re-focused on him and he chuckled, the sound low in his throat. “When you get your ass handed to ya, buddy, it's hardly called a fair fight.”

Sam stepped in front of Adam to prevent him from bounding off the counter, nursing his face in one large hand, the other popping open the first aid kit's lid, out of which he extracted antiseptic, wincing to match his younger brother's expression at the sting that followed. He didn't like Adam getting hurt.

“What happened?” he inquired gently, even his most subtle movements careful.

Adam caught his bottom lip between his teeth and began worrying it, leaning into Sam's touch. That was his way – he acted defensive, prickly as the sharpest cactus, but sweet water coursed within him, not all that different from Dean, really. It was fitting that he wanted to be a doctor.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn't mean to get in trouble or get you guys involved. There's just...there's this kid who hates me, a senior. He's always raggin’ on me, pushing me around, stealing my stuff. He _makes_ me partner up with him in every class we share.”

Dean shot up off his seat. “Why the fuck didn't you say anything earlier?” he demanded, his rage so evident that Sam realized he hadn't known what had caused the fight, only that it had happened.

“I, uh, he...” Adam flicked his eyes between his older brothers, the pale blue of them brighter than usual, then looked down at his lap. “I didn't wanna be a rat about it, so I tried to ignore him. Turned the other cheek and all that. But today, I-I couldn't help it, I got so mad. He took my bag, started asking about a picture of Mom, and I punched him. I'm sorry.”

“If he was being a dick–” Dean started to say, in his default volume of loud.

“If this boy was bullying you,” Sam interrupted softly, extracting a small bandage from the kit and sticking it on the area under Adam's cheek, where a ring must have cut him, “you shouldn't be the one to get in trouble. You've never been in a fight before, you're already the top student in your grade, you're not a troublemaker. Didn't they think it was weird?”

“What was weird was, when I punched him, Michael didn't do anything. He stared at me all sadly, like I kicked his puppy or something, but the guy's so ripped, he could have torn me up easy. All he did was stare,” explained Adam, his embarrassment returning. Before Sam could question his current injuries, he continued, “It wasn't Michael that jumped me. His million other siblings did. I swear, that chick Raphael's a psycho; I think she gave me a concussion. My ass, she's studying medicine, too! Torture, more like!”

“So a mob of kids gang up on one and Principal Addler suspends _you_?” asked Sam, appalled by the notion.

Adam shrugged a narrow shoulder. “That old bastard hates my guts. Meanwhile, he's BFFs with their father. Apparently the dude is stinking rich with senatorial ties.”

“Don't mean they're entitled to more rights,” Dean grumbled, his verdant eyes stormy. “I am gonna march into that dipshit school and get them to unsuspend you! It’s about time Zachariah stops takin’ his vendetta against me on my family!”

Sam was momentarily silent. To be honest, he didn't disagree with the eldest Winchester, but he countered reasonably, “Dean, you're helping Bobby with that new remodeling job, remember? I'll take Adam to school.”

“You sure?” Dean blinked at him. “You've never gone before, dude. What if all the little cheerleaders eat'cha up?”

Sam resisted the urge to stick his tongue out, calmly rebuffing, “I went to that school, remember? I can handle it just fine.”

“Whoa, don't I get a say in this?” inquired Adam.

“No!” his guardians replied, ignoring his scowl to resume their conversation. “Fine,” Dean allowed. “Bobby'll have my ass, anyhow, if I miss work for anything short of death. Go play overprotective Daddy. You've got my blessing.”

Sam grinned and set the first aid kit aside, taking a step back so his younger brother could hop off the counter. “That's all I ask, Mommy dearest.”

Adam rolled his eyes and muttered something about incest under his breath, but went unheeded once again.

-

Adam was walking a few steps ahead of Sam, his knuckles white around the strap of his bag, but that was okay. Sam followed at a safe distance and let him have his space. That was why he and Adam got along best. Dean couldn't understand when _not_ to push.

However, as the red-bricked face of the schoolhouse drew near, its hollow glass eyes reminding Sam just how glad he was to not have to see it anymore, he knew that he had to break the silence.

“You know, bro, whatever they decide, Dean and I have got your back,” he began gently. “We can kick some ass, too. Granted, we'd go to jail, not suspension or even juvie, for beating up a bunch of teenagers, but my lawyerly powers might mitigate our sentence.”

Adam paused mid-step, allowing Sam to catch up. The small smile he wore would have made a couple years for assault and battery totally worth it. “Thanks, Sam. I-I know,” he mumbled, cheeks endearingly red. The second he saw Sam's shit-eating grin, though, he added, “Now hurry your ass up. They're not gonna stay open much later, so clop them moose hooves, Bullwinkle.”

“Brat,” Sam grumbled, but he quickened his pace to comply with the request. They continued side by side till they reached the fence encasing the school's athletic fields, where Adam hesitated again, staring through the tiny squares at the baseball diamond. “What's the matter?” Sam asked, noting the severe purse of his lips.

“Nothing,” snapped Adam, stalking off in a huff. He passed the fields entirely, then called over his shoulder, “C'mon!”

Sam sighed, shook his head, and followed his sulking brother through the double doors up front. The sight of wall to wall lockers and cracked linoleum floors met him at once, bringing with them a burst of nostalgia, but Adam didn't slow down, so he couldn't stop to play tourist either.

He broke into a run through the empty halls just as one of the formerly shut doors flung open. A periodic table of elements collided against his face and knocked him flat on his ass, inciting an, “Oof!”

He heard the dull thump of sneakers on tile and assumed that Adam had witnessed his epic fall, but the chirpy voice that said, “You okay?” belonged to his assailant, a short man with neatly coiffed brown hair, bright hazel eyes and a grin bigger than he was. He didn’t seem even vaguely repentant for nearly breaking Sam’s nose.

“’M’fine,” Sam replied, now to the man and Adam, who had doubled back to stand in front of him, his arms crossed in a way that eerily reminded Sam of their father.

After a moment, Adam’s stern expression melted away, however, and he extended a hand to help Sam up. “Goliath here is my brother, Sam Winchester,” he informed the waiting man, whose smile grew even wider, if possible.

“Guess that makes me David,” he laughed, then grew somewhat serious, offering his hand to Sam, who shook it cautiously. “I’m Gabriel Novak, the magic teacher.”

“Science,” Adam explained, before Sam could articulate his confusion. “Mr. Novak thinks science is the closest thing to magic. He wants to turn this place into an American Hogwarts or something.” Adam rolled his eyes, but a tiny, fond smile dawned on his face.

“It is,” the man – _Gabriel_ – insisted, “And you, my little Padawan, are one of my top protégés.”

“Didn’t stop me from getting suspended,” Adam said with a sigh. For Sam’s benefit, he added, “I hit Michael in Mr. Novak’s class.”

“I understand that you were just doing your job–” Sam began immediately, jumping to his brother’s defense.

Gabriel’s chuckle cut him off. “I didn’t suspend him, bucko. If anything, Mikey needs a swat or two every now and then. Kid thinks he’s a prince or something. Royal pain is more like it.”

“The utter douchebag,” Adam agreed, with less heat than he’d had earlier. The deadpan insult was almost comical.

“Oh,” said Sam. He glanced between Gabriel and his brother and mulled over the situation. “I guess I should just head right for the principal’s office then, huh?” he finally mused.

Adam nodded, but before he could actually direct Sam there, Gabriel grabbed his arm. “Seein’ your face is just gonna piss Zack off, kiddo. Why don’tcha wait outside?” he suggested, a purposeful arch to his already expressive eyebrows.

Adam considered him for a moment, suspicious, then sighed. “Whatever.”

“Atta boy!” Gabriel exclaimed. He slapped a hand against Adam’s back one last time, before resettling the appendage on Sam’s arm, using it to drag the giant away. Adam stared after them perplexedly.

-

Principal Zachariah Addler was a smarmy sort of guy. He’d taught at Kripke High for years before the Winchesters were born, but finally got promoted to principal during Dean’s sophomore class. He’d also been Dean’s freshman theology teacher the year before that.

That was when the hate between the two of them had first been born. Dean took the class for an easy A, Zachariah took it more serious than a nun, and they clashed. It helped no one that Dean visited his office near daily once Zachariah ascended to his current position, for harassing other teachers or debauching fellow students . He used to have a full head of hair before Dean Winchester strolled into his life.

The animosity between them had mitigated a bit when Dean decided he honestly couldn't imagine himself happier than when he was working at John and Bobby's body-shop. He dropped school like a hot plate, agreed to pursue getting a GED to appease his father and brother, and proceeded to forget Zachariah even existed. His former principal didn't return the favor.

Upon entering school, Sam _somehow_ ended up with all of the freakiest teachers there – Mr. Uriel, the gym teacher who called him a mud monkey; Azazel, who earnestly suggested Sam study demonology in college, his creepy yellow eyes tracking Sam through the school halls; not to mention his daughter, Meg, who didn't give a crap about fraternization rules between teachers and students, to Sam's blasphemed dismay. Basically, although Sam loved school and learning with a fervor Dean happily mocked, he wanted to kill himself back then. Another student actually had.

He graduated, however, and didn't look back. Neither he nor Dean worried much about Adam transferring to Kripke. He hadn't grown up in Lawrence with them and he still shared his dead mother's surname, Milligan, so there was no reason for the irascible principal to ever find out. They hadn't realized Zachariah would take one look at their fair-haired, fair-eyed, freckled baby brother, who honestly did bear a uncanny resemblance to Dean, and put everything together.

So you really couldn't blame Sam for hating Zachariah, who now sat with his fingers linked in a beat up leather chair Sam recognized from all those years ago, behind an equally ramshackle mahogany desk. “Winchester,” he drawled, smirk smug, though his lips twitched when a grinning Gabriel followed Sam in. “I suspected your ilk might come. Thought for sure it'd be Dean, though. He does so love screwing up our PTA meetings, after all.”

“Well, Dean's busy,” Sam bit out, lowering himself into one of the uncomfortable plastic guest chairs. Another student in his year, Andy Gallagher, had once told him that Zachariah bought cheap seats on purpose, so he could look imperious and students could feel unnerved, like prisoners on the execution block of a maleficent king. For Sam, who had grown considerably since the last time he occupied one, it was even worse.

Zachariah snorted. Sam could tell he was about to make some smart retort about changing oil or tires. He bristled at even the idea of an insult to his older brother, who had first unselfishly raised him and was now doing the same for Adam. Dean wasn't perfect, but he was truly busy, and _not_ with sadistically torturing innocent kids.

“Let's cut to the chase, yeah?” Gabriel injected himself between the two glaring men, propping his elbows on Zachariah's desk and his head in his hands. The position prevented Sam from lunging across the desk to wring Zachariah's flabby neck, but it also left Gabriel's ass wriggling right in his face. He dissolved into his horrible chair and waited.

“What are you doing here?” replied Zachariah, all too happy to pretend Sam wasn't there. “I thought everything with your siblings was already settled?”

Sam's neck craned up at that. _Siblings_? Gabriel obliged with Zachariah's example and didn't notice. “Yeah, thanks for that, by the way. Now I'm gonna hafta go home to the insufferably self-satisfied little bastards. I swear, they think they're generals of an army or something.” He tutted, slightly vexed, then barreled on. “And that's all well and good. I'm used to it, anyway. But what about Adam? He really is a good kid.”

“He is!” Sam blurted out, before he could stop himself. Still, no one so much as glanced his way. He crossed his arms and tried not to devolve into what Dean alternatively called his bitchface or his puppy-dog pout. In a way, he supposed the two concepts were related.

Zachariah scowled and sat back in his chair. It swiveled slowly. “Disciplinary action has already been taken, Mr. Novak. I asked every student involved for their side of the story. More weighed against young Mr. Milligan than for him.”

“'Cause you only asked Adam, Lucy and Raph,” Gabriel replied, not quite defensively. In fact, his lips had upturned, grinning teeth glinting white behind them. “I know for a fact, the only time those two put up a united front is when they pull a Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Well, what do you want me to do? I'm not going to repeal the sentence I've already laid out. Do you know how _weak_ that will make me look?” inquired Zachariah, his own upper lip curled derisively.

Gabriel laughed like it was all one big joke, a game for him and his boss, but Sam had enough. His palms made startlingly loud impact against old wood when he used them as leverage to stand, unraveling his slumped shoulders to his full height – his rather intimidating height, which, though Zachariah was one of the few people he knew who could rival it, made an even scarier emphasis because of his muscular frame. Gabriel's eyes riveted on him curiously as he spoke.

“I'm not sure if you're aware, Mr. Addler, but I'm not a gawky, frightened teenager anymore. I'm an associate in one of the top firms in the _country_. We may be corporate, but I assure you, I can find some kind of bias here, something to sue you and your school over, and I'll man any other unfairly treated students' cases pro bono. Do you really want to put your precious school through that?” Zachariah stared at him. Gabriel did, too, for a different reason. In the end, although Sam couldn't quite get the man to punish Adam's bullies in any way, he _did_ get his little brother's suspension annulled.

“Let's go tell the kid the good news!” chirped Gabriel, once again manhandling Sam's hand into his. They left Kripke High's principal to shooting darts at former Winchester yearbook pictures. Or whatever else it was that the obsessed man did in his free time.

Sam shot a bemused look at Gabriel's back once they were out of the schoolhouse. The diminutive science teacher was humming some popular pop tune – surely not _Lady Gaga_ – and even skipping. Sam's expression soured.

“You're pretty happy that your siblings got off light, huh?” he asked, a mean dip to his tone. Adam's problems – his recent loss of both parents, his abrupt move to Lawrence, his adjustment to a new family dynamic – were plenty bad, even without some spoiled rich kids picking on him.

Gabriel paused. It was sudden and Sam almost bumped into him, but then he recommenced, flouncy as ever. “Just wait and see,” he replied, in a singsong _I know something you don't know_ tone. When they came to the fence onlooking the baseball diamond, he stopped again and disentangled his hand to grip a pair of wiry rectangles.

Sam halted beside him, but upon catching sight of what had caught Gabriel's attention, his heart began to rush the way his feet wanted to. Adam and another young man stood in the middle of the field, positioned so that, even though Adam's back was to them, neither teenager could see them behind the giant scoreboard that tilted their way.

The unknown young man had curly black hair, tan skin and eyes that were either a very dark blue or green, too far to tell with certainty. He was only a couple inches taller than Adam, but considerably more daunting in appearance, a stern frown marring his otherwise handsome face and a Letterman jacket over his sinewy torso. This was a kid who probably maintained a workout schedule as rigorous as Sam's own. He could be no one but the infamous Michael.

As Sam watched, he leaned closer to Adam and whispered something. If Gabriel didn't seize his elbow right then, Sam would have circled to the diamond's entrance, then put himself between the two kids.

“He's going to _kill_ Adam!” Sam exclaimed. He tried to extricate himself from Gabriel, but the man was surprisingly strong for someone so small.

“Just wait and see,” he said again, that infuriating smirk taking up permanent residence on his face. Sam wanted nothing more than to punch him. Instead, he did as he was bid with a worried grimace.

-

“Why the hell are you still here?” demanded Adam. The instant Gabriel had dismissed him from adult company, he'd marched right back to the baseball field, where he'd noticed Michael loitering earlier.

The older boy blinked at him, then reached out a hand to touch Adam's face, only halting when Adam flinched away. “You're hurt worse than I thought,” he murmured.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Adam sniped, crossing his arms. It was a defensive gesture, but doubled as self-conscious, his foot tapping without permission. Even if Sam reasoned with Zachariah, the other kids would still stare at Adam, now for being new _and_ ugly. “Why are you still here?” he asked again. “I would have thought you'd wanna go home and thank your bodyguards for ensuring that?”

Michael's face fell. Once again, _something_ churned in Adam's gut, more potent than simple guilt. He cursed his stupid hormones in both of the languages – English and a couple semesters of Latin – he knew conversationally. They mocked his woe by increasing their torrent at Michael's quiet, “I genuinely didn't mean for that to happen. I only made an offhand comment to Lucifer about our altercation.”

Adam fidgeted some more, then finally wondered, “Are you trying to apologize?” with palpable disbelief.

“Yes,” Michael said at once. He forwent elaborating to step even closer. Adam could smell his spicy cologne, the cool bite of his aftershave. He was so focused on them that he couldn't even dodge when Michael reached to cup his face again, successful this time, his thumbs tracing gently over the arch of Adam's cheekbones. Cradling Adam in that way, Michael stooped his head low to press their mouths together.

Adam's back stiffened, his arms straight at his side, but Michael didn't move away and he once again lost himself to the sensual sensations, melting against a hard chest. Michael's scent was even stronger now, his lips burning wet as a furnace, and one arm dropped to wrap around Adam's hips possessively.

“Oh,” Adam whispered, when they eventually pulled back to catch their breath.

“Oh,” acceded Michael, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. Adam stayed pressed against him, a little dazed, and the proximity made the mirth melting off Michael's face all too evident. “I am sorry,” he said softly, not releasing Adam. “I'm sorry for purposely bumping into you in the halls, for flicking things at you at lunch, and knocking you down in gym. I'm sorry for badgering you into being my partner in class, when you obviously didn't want to, and for rifling through your belongings. Your mother's picture was too personal a thing for me to take.”

Adam stared at him. Michael shifted from foot to foot, but didn't break eye contact, at least until Adam began to laugh, shoved at his chest and punched him in the arm, upon managing to escape from the cage the pair of limbs created. Michael winced.

“All this time, I went home and listened to Sammy's emo music, depressed that the hot king of the school hated me, and this was what? You pullin' pigtails?” Although he began with a teasing, amicable tone, Adam ended up with his hands on his hips, scowling up at Michael. “Seriously?”

“I'm sorry,” Mike mumbled, shuffling again.

Adam let him squirm for another uncomfortable minute, before blowing out a sigh that brushed his choppy bangs off his forehead. He took a stride forward and let his fingers bury in the lapels of Michael's jacket. “You know what's gonna happen? I'mma ask you out now and you're gonna say yes, whether you want to or not, same way I did in class. Then, we'll ditch our brothers, hit the peewee baseball game at the park, and make the away team cry.”

“You want to drive five year old children to tears?” Michael mimed, somewhat aghast.

“Yup.” Adam grinned at him. “And, if you do it right, I'll even let you take me to prom, Mr. Team Captain. You can be suspended and still go to those, I've heard.”

His eyes were agleam with mischief, the palest blue Michael had seen of yet, and it didn't take much more to convince him. Adam reeled him in for a second kiss.

-

A mere base and some change away, Sam picked his slack jaw up off the floor. “Please, tell me your brother is sexually harassing mine so I can kick his ass, throw him in a cell, then put this all behind me?”

“No can do, Sammy boy,” laughed Gabriel, pressing his face further into the chain-links. He seemed intrigued by their brothers' abnormal lung capacity.

Sam let himself slink low against the fence with his head in his hands. Dean was going to be oh so happy when Adam came home with an older boyfriend, not that Sam blamed him. With his freaking former _bully_ , for freak's sake. That was just...freaky!

A hand burrowed into Sam's long hair. He jerked when he felt mischievous fingers tug on a lock, meeting Gabriel's happy hazel eyes. “If I took a page from the little bro's book and asked ya out, would you accept, my large, overprotective friend?”

“I-I, uh, I,” Sam stammered. Before he could muster up a more clever reply, Gabriel ruffled his hair again and loped off. His eyes followed the man almost unconsciously. Only after Gabriel had ducked back into the school building did he realize that the stem of a rose had somehow tucked itself behind his ear, the flower's petals caressing his cheek. He traced one with a reverential fingertip.

Kripke High seemed as drab as usual in the distance, but if Sam squinted, he could almost imagine castle spires, dragon kennels, and sports that required flying brooms. Looking back on his laughing baby brother, it was easy to see why Gabriel thought he could make the place magical. He already had.

-

And So Everyone But Dean Got Laid (But He Would Have the Last Laugh)  
The End

-


End file.
